Brain Patterns.

Every now and again I think on you.

But it is only so much as a song in my head or a word on my tongue; and then it passes.

And that, I believe, is more than enough.

...Dead hearts are everywhere...

S.

{Photo: We Heart It}

Days. Gone. By.

In the end, I think that I will like that we were sitting on the bed, talking and wondering where the time had gone.  

Brian Andreas

(So let's go back.)

S.

{Photo: Gatopalomas Flickr}

Falling.

Last week for the first time, I breathed love in for this place.

I've liked it before now. Definitely. But last week, as I was walking along minding my own cares, I looked around and saw - really saw - the clear blue sky, the colors of the season, the trees leaning with the breeze, and I could hear the mower cut the grass and smell the fall surrounding me.

I inhaled deeply, and in doing so, I was filled with a love and a growing passion for this place: home. It can't compete with where I'm from, not even a little. But it can be the apple to the orange. Competitions are only necessary if one need win. But if one only need love, then this is good, I have found my place. This is where I am supposed to be.

And I'm falling in love.

S.

There Is An End.

There's one thing I want to say, so I'll be brave: you were what I wanted, I gave what I gave. I'm not sorry I met you, I'm not sorry it's over, I'm not sorry there's nothing to save.

Live through this and you won't look back...

Stars
* I'm obsessed with
Stars these days.

{Photo: We Heart It}

(They Meant Us)

They say that the world was built for two.

Lana Del Rey

{Photo: We Heart It}

The sounds of loneliness.

It's taking my breath away, the way a song can flood my mind with the past. I'm really drowning. Drowning in the long - frequent - drives, in the late nights spent with you, in all the things that I forgot to say racing through my mind.

I forgot this loneliness, but it's a not a feeling I despise. Instead I let it crawl back to me in its old familiar way. It comes to hold my hand through the cold, grey months. It latches onto my heart and grabs a hold of my mind (again). There is something odd about this feeling - something addicting about the ache it creates in me. I remember it all.

And I welcome it back. Maybe I ought not wish its return, but there is that something about it. That familiarity that I accidentally long for. Maybe I'd rather - sometimes - fall back and drown in an aching comfort than march forward and upward and past it all.

But it sounds ridiculous like that, no? Unambitious, perhaps? Very well, I am stupid and lazy. But it may be said, clearly and soundly, that some of my most fond memories were in that time. They were in the car rides by myself, in the late night visits that ended too late and too soon, in facing some battles by myself, and in the music that surrounded me all the while. So today I reach for that old friend - the dull ache that kept me company when my heart was beyond the reach of human touch. I let it take me again, to a place where I felt many things, and nothing at all.


S.

{Photo: Junkiesky Tumblr}

Desire.

I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable and beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings.

Mary Oliver

Something about the words of Mary Oliver make me want to run and experience life before another moment is lost..

S.

{Photo: We Heart It}

What I Haven't Told You Yet.

You know, I don't like how transparent I am.

The way you know me better than I thought you could; better than I thought anyone could.

And I don't know how you do it. How you see me, and see through me. How you've picked up on the details. (How you'll know, word for word, what I'm talking about here.)

And part of me - a large part - can't stand it. It worries me and makes me feel unsafe, unsheltered. Like I am standing on a spit of sand in the middle of the ocean, at the mercy of the waves and wind and rain that are crashing and howling and beating in around me. Like I am about to be carried away into the deep and unforgiving sea of vulnerability. I don't like that.

But another part of me - and this part is very small - is getting used to the thought. Is considering jumping into the frigid and wild and overwhelming waters and seeing if I don't quite drown.

You make me nervous, I'm sure you know. You know everything, and everyday I am reminded of how little I know. I know nothing.

And we are so very far apart.

S.

{Photo: Theo Gosselin}

This Heart's A Mess.

My tongue is quick to lie, I'm finding. It surprises me a little to note how many times I'll have some fiction at the ready, how I'm prepared at any moment to tell something less than true.

Sometimes it's a half-lie, bordered in truth; some glimmer of fact peppered throughout. And often, not. Just a full out invention. Void of all honesty.

I'm realizing this, and I'm trying now - now that I know - to right myself. To slow down the quickly constructed replies and ask myself: why not the truth?

What are you hiding from? And what will be the consequence if it were brought to light, rather than stuffed
                   deep
                                        deep
                                                            deep
                                                                              down inside of me ?

                            [Why all this hiding?]

So the answer is yes. That's what I meant to say to you. That was the proper - true - reply, but instead you got something else, something less than you deserved. Something I wish I could believe. But you were right, and that unnerved me. 

S.

P.S. What If I Told You - Jason Walker

{Photo: Eliftanman Flickr}

You're Not Here.

And still, that face.
It's there when I close my eyes. 
Calming and alarming all at once.

But let's both remember what you said. There is nothing for us.

S.  

{Photo: We Heart It}

I Won't Forget Those Days.

Some memories stay burned in my brain. As though they were etched there by some eternal scribe.

Some questions still linger in my mind. Questions of possibility, and timing.

Some bitterness I still hold on to - can't let go of - and I can feel it painting those parts of my heart the darker shades of grey.

Grey is such a lonely color.

Beautiful, but oh so lonely.

S.

{Photo: Timachrome Flickr}